


Here's to the Heartache (if it led me to you)

by NeverJustBusiness



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Deepthroating, Hair-pulling, I'm so sorry Chasten, I'm sorry to her too, Lis Smith is My New Goddess, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, i'm sorry everyone, this is who i am now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2020-10-19 18:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20661512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverJustBusiness/pseuds/NeverJustBusiness
Summary: There are no secrets anymore. Nothing is sacred.Chasten knew this.It didn't help.





	1. When the Bough Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> There's no coming back from this. I'm both sorry and not. 
> 
> Chasten deserves the world.

There were definitely some days Chasten refused to think were real.

Not in a dissociative sense, really. Just… There’s no way this was his life now.

When you’re being herded from one event to another, often in rapid-fire succession where the faces and names all blend together, it was easy enough to just operate and put on the Teacher Face. Present and accounted for, mentally, but too busy to really think about it.  
  
Then A Day comes. Capital A and Capital D intended.  
  
It happens with a million little cuts.

He starts his morning far from home and far from Peter, which already makes everything just that much harder. Brushes his teeth while blearily checking Twitter notifications, liking a few tweets he knows will make the sender very happy. It’s the little things. While looking at the contraption the hotel laughably calls a coffee maker, his phone lights up with a call from a phone number he thought he had forgotten. He lets it go to voicemail and promptly deletes it before opening the coffee pouch, trying valiantly not to remember. Hotel coffee is just the goddamn worst so he chokes down as much as he can handle along with a weird pastry someone handed him once he was in the hallway. It’s not great but they have a full day as always. In the car, his security lead goes over the most-likely-to-try-something threats received the night before and Chasten wonders absently if the Secret Service sees these too in case they make it all the way. He gives some points for creativity. People are quite inventive.

Notable among them, though, are specific lines he knows are from Rhyan’s latest press tour. His brother never knew how to leave well enough alone when they were kids so go figure he wouldn’t start now when there’s ‘donations’ to be gained. Emily confirms as much with an apologetic look. Chasten tries not to be disappointed. Hopefully his nephew gets something nice from this new inflow of bigot bucks.

The event itself turns into a clusterfuck almost immediately, but somehow in a positive way. There’s too many people trying to get in for the small space and they make do. Some of the threats were specific about this event so everyone who was in the car is on edge more than normal. Chasten is still trying not to remember. It’s not really working.

People are excited to see him. Super excited. Chasten’s definitely feeling their energy and brings some of it into and out of himself. He’s smiling and shaking hands, taking pictures and selfies and thanking everyone, especially the volunteers and event venue staff. There’s so much joy. All of it aimed at him. It’s weird. Great and wonderful, but still weird. (Sure, some is for Peter but he ain’t here right now, is he?)

  
Someone says something. A kid, barely older than any he’s ever taught, looks him in the eyes and says he saved their life and its. It’s too much. The ability to put on Teacher Face disappears and he feels every single hour of lost sleep in that moment. The kink in his back he still had from making a car into a replacement for home. The crack in his rib from a fist that somehow still remembered his number. Every ache and pain with a story all hits at once and he can’t breathe, except he has to. He has to look them back in the eyes and make the words coming out of his mouth be the thing they need to hear.

He can handle meeting governors and mayors and community leaders. He’s getting the hang of meeting celebrities and artists. Try as he might, he still can’t totally handle meeting someone alive because of him, nevermind a child, who shouldn’t be in a position of needing saving in the first place. Yet, here they are and there he is. He’s not sure he’ll every really get better at it but at the same time isn’t sure he accepts what ‘getting better at it’ would require others to live through.  
  
How does someone like him, unnerved by a voicemail, save a life without meeting them?

He does his talk, answers some questions. Talks about Buddy and Truman and Peter. He finishes up the event without issue, to applause even, hugging the braver-than-he-was-holy-fuck-god-why child and their parents again for good measure when he can get to them in the handshake line. The car is already running when he gets into it and Chasten takes a breath or five before texting Peter that he’s on the way to the venue they’re set to meet at, that it went ok. Peter texts back almost immediately, like he always does (but only with Chasten and that fact will never not make him feel dumb and giddy like when they were first talking.) Peter asks how he’s doing and even over text, Chasten knows what he’s really asking about. Rhyan. Chasten is not going to reply with who called. He’s not.

Sometimes he gets what they say about Peter. It’s not kind, but he does, a little. Not ‘believes’ it, given he married the man… but he gets it. Peter, who came out ‘late’ in a family that still made space for him, who barely dated before Chasten, who says all these things about understanding being marginalized… but doesn’t carry in him one-tenth the mess that Chasten built the wall around his heart with. Not even close. 

Peter, who knows at a glance that Chasten isn’t 100% present. Peter, who takes Chasten’s hand when they meet and pilots their event almost singlehandedly, keeps his hand on some part of his husband and only moves away when made to.

It’s loud. So many people love them so much and even if it’s just the idea of them, it’s more than Chasten can really comprehend at the moment. People they’ve never met yell and scream and cheer for them and what they’ve built, for what they have yet to build. The event itself goes off without a hitch. They raised a lot of money and Peter is visibly exhausted but also visibly excited about what that means for the next steps. He’s also visibly keeping an eye on Chasten, cutting the talk with donors short so they can get to the hotel.

They go in the same car and Pete doesn’t talk, letting Lis fill up the air from the back. Chasten adores Lis. She’s loud and unapologetic about the space she occupies. Chasten wants to be her when he grows up. He wonders if there’s numbers in her phone she doesn’t answer either.  
  
When they get to the hotel, Peter makes sure everyone’s got their marching orders so they can have a few hours to themselves. Saralena and Emily know when to make everyone disappear and it is definitely an Everyone Disappear kind of night. Peter’s needed one or two at this point himself, so Chasten shouldn’t be feeling as hollowly guilty as he does in making their staff find other things to do. There’s always other things to do, plenty of them just as crucial as anything they needed the couple for, but the instinct to Not Make Things Harder is strong in him. Peter has no such instinct at the moment apparently. Never seems to when it comes to Chasten.  
  
He doesn’t really get how he could possibly deserve that.

It was just a phone call. It was such a short interaction. It shouldn’t be making him feel like this.  
  
Arms wrap around his middle and Chasten can’t not sink into the offered comfort. Peter telegraphs his movements, stepping around and tucking Chasten into him as best he can. Music is playing, gentle and soft in the background. They start moving together without saying anything. It’s a slow step, a slow sway in bad time to a song neither of them know. The dance, on the other hand, they know well. It’s one they’ve been dancing since they first met.

“Chas.” The day he gets used to that deep timbre rolling through him will be his last.  
  
“Mm.”  
  
“This isn’t from Rhyan.” Not one for subtlety, his Peter. Asshole.

“… It’s And-” A knock at the door. Loud. Insistent. Fuck’s sake.  
  
Peter handles it. “Not right now, Nina.”

  
“Sorry, I know, but yes, now, Pete. You need to see this.” Or not. Chasten sets his cheek against Peter’s shoulder and gives him a tight hug before stepping away. He’s not sure what to do with the ‘clearly not ok with that’ look Peter gives him.

“Give us a moment. Chast-“  
  
“Him too. Both of you need to see this.” Lis.

Oh. 

Oh no. 

No.  
  
All he can see is Peter’s eyes. Blue. Sharp. Watching him.

“Come in, Lis, Nina.” Peter doesn’t look away from Chasten for any of it. Doesn’t drop Chasten’s hand. Doesn’t move away. The blast radius around the implosion expands. He absently registers the door closing behind the women. Forces of nature, both of them, but right now all Chasten can do is watch Peter watching him.  
  
“Chasten, who is Andrew Burnson?”

He can’t breathe. He can’t think.

Andrew.

The call. 

His chest aches. His ribs hurt.

“An ex.” He hears himself answer from somewhere else. The hand not in Peter’s vice grip goes around his stomach as if to hold something in and he sees Peter see it. Barely a twitch and those blue eyes are boring back into his.

Lis, ever the wonder, figures this is as good a time as any.

“The Young Turks, those craven fucking hacks, have Andrew Bronson saying Chasten didn’t do the popular party drugs but, and I quote, ‘would do almost anything else I asked.’ Called you while on their show and played your outgoing message as proof. Aside from how fuckin’ slimy he is, what is he talking about?" 

Someone laughs. It’s the worst thing he’s ever heard.

Everyone’s horrified expressions make Chasten realize the laughter is from him.

“Andrew never really cared to understand that asking with fists doesn’t count.” Nina’s hand goes to her mouth instantly and Lis is staring at him, her face going through a journey on its own. Peter… Chasten looks over to his husband.

Peter is **_incandescent _**in his fury. Seeing the rage build is a wonder… and terrifying. 

He doesn’t notice he’s shaking until Peter lets his grip slacken and audibly tries to calm himself down.  
  
Peter would _never_. He knows that. Chasten **_knows_** that. And yet.

He simply can’t see how he went from Andrew to Peter.

Not once in four years of their relationship had Peter ever even raised his voice to Chasten, nevermind a hand. Not once has Peter pushed further than Chasten wanted. Not once has Peter ever used Chasten’s past as a weapon or done anything other than seen and accepted him. Even now, faced with airing every bit of that baggage to the world, Peter is looking over at Chasten and taking his lead.  
  
One problem with that.  
  
Chasten doesn’t know where to go from here.


	2. With Time Comes Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healing takes many forms.
> 
> Sometimes its talking
> 
> And sometimes its not.
> 
> This chapter earns this work a Mature Rating.
> 
> Please heed the tags and I am so sorry, everyone involved.

Chasten doesn’t remember falling asleep but he must have. A warm hand strokes around his hip and he tucks into the hold just a little bit more. It’s quiet; the only sound in the room is their breathing.

Usually, Peter is up before him, either running or getting a head start on work… apparently not today. Chasten will remember to feel bad about it later maybe, but for right now, he smiles as the hand on his hip moves up his back and shoulders, then rest on his cheek to cradle his head. There are so few chances for this kind of peace on the trail that Chasten doesn’t want to open his eyes and admit they have other things to do. He does the first part anyways, blinking away sleep and seeing the fuzzy shape of his husband watching him. It would probably be more romantic if he could see but this will have to do.

“Morning.” He may not be able to see clearly but he can definitely hear and Peter’s even-deeper morning voice has the same effect on him it always does. They have other things to do they have things to  _ do _ there are  ** _things_ ** he  _ cannot _ blow Peter right here right now. He would, though. He fucking would. He has, too, but settles for kissing him instead.

“Morning.” Chasten is a grown-ass man who can mostly take care of himself but he would be a liar if he said there wasn’t a part of him that thrills at Peter taking that chance to pull him closer. At Peter curving around him protectively, setting himself between Chasten and the world.

If only he really could. Everything that went down yesterday slowly seeps back in and tears at the peace Chasten wants to pull back over them like a duvet.

Andrew. The call. Lis and Nina. Fuck.

He rolls away from Peter onto his back and stares at the ceiling while trying desperately not to panic.

Sometimes, he hears an old, familiar voice talking him into believing there’s no way Peter loves him for himself. That Peter doesn’t really need him like he needs Peter. That what he’s done, seen and been through are all Problems and there is a Line rapidly barreling towards them where Peter will be Done With This.

It’s not nearly the comfort he thought it would be to know Peter couldn’t ask for a divorce without tanking the campaign.

It is a little, though.

(The comfort disappears quickly, because he knows he would sign it.)

Peter doesn’t let him lay there flitting between wallowing and panicking for very long. One moment he’s staring at stucco and the next he’s got an eyeful of fuzzy husband, emphasis on the fuzzy. Peter’s Mediterranean roots come out strong when it comes to hair in general, especially when time to do a full pare-down is rare. Chasten can feel it against his chest and where Peter’s arms brace by his shoulders. Peter shifts where he settled between Chasten’s legs a–

Oh.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one thinking about morning glory.

To their matching frustration, it’s going to stay at ‘thinking’ if the insistent knock on their door is anything to go by.

“Are you fucking– Twice in twelve hours. I’m firing everyone.” The complete lack of actual anger and how he bent his head to kiss Chasten while growling makes Chasten laugh.

“Wish we were and no, you’re not, Peter. Answer the door.”

“Pants on, please.” Lis’ position as Chasten’s favorite is suddenly tenuous at best.

Peter gets up anyways, but not before kissing Chasten again. And again. And agai-

“I will bribe you both with coffee to stop doing whatever gross shit you’re doing. We need to get a move on, like, now.” That somehow makes Peter pause and stand up, pants in hand.

“We don’t have anything until ten.” Go figure he has the whole schedule memorized. 

“Oh no. I wasn’t talking about the schedule. The three of us need to have a  ** _chat_ ** .”

This... is not going to be fun. He gets up and gathers his clothes together, going through the motions until he’s about as ready as he’ll ever be for one of Lis’ famous chats. The last one wasn’t all that enjoyable and Chasten suspects this one won’t be either.

Lis stalks in the second Peter opens the door and slaps a notepad on the table in front of Chasten. Her smile is borderline feral.

“I need every single name of every single person that has ever seen you naked, Pete excluded.” Chasten opens his mouth to protest but she flips up a perfectly manicured hand into his face. “I asked you, before we launched the committee, if there was anyone we should know about and somehow this Andrew fucker slipped your mind, even if he still has your personal number. That is not happening again. Either you tell me everything or I’m gone.”

“Lis.” The warning tone in Peter’s voice is heartening, even if it is not helping the chasm in his gut. He sits heavily into the chair and stares at the pad.

“You think I want to be asking this fucking question again? I asked you both to tell me everything, Pete, and you’re still keeping shit from me. Shit I need to know.” She smacks her hand onto the pen and pad, almost snarling. He hates that he flinched. Hates that Peter saw it even more. “Everything, Chasten. I need names.”

Nothing gold can stay.

If there is a Line, he is about to cross it.

There’s no way someone like Peter would stay with someone like him. Someone who flinched at Peter’s staff. Someone who could tank his entire political career just by being in his life. Someone who does all that and yet can’t get out of their head long enough to satisfy him… and then have the gall to say what he’s about to.

“... I don’t have the names.”

“I don’t ha–… Run that by me the fuck again.”

“I don’t have all of the names. I didn’t know all of them.” Line crossed. Ball is in Peter’s court. There are very few things he could right now do that Chasten would blame him for. Chasten would never recover, never be the same, but if Peter is better off, then that’s what matters.

He doesn’t look up. He definitely doesn’t look at Peter. 

He forgot who he married, though, because he doesn’t have to. A familiar hand sets itself on his shoulder, grip firm but not rough. He feels the tension in his back fade just that much more.

“Ok, yeah, that’s fair. Not all. Just the ones you think might try to do what this guy just did,” Lis puts her hands up in surrender and Chasten can only imagine that Peter’s glare must have been  _ withering _ . “Gun to my fucking head, I wouldn’t be able to list all of mine so stop looking at me like you’re going to set me on fire, Pete.”

“Keeping it an option.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious.”

Chasten rolls his eyes and starts writing, Peter’s hand on his shoulder a comfort and support. There’s only four names. Four mistakes he wishes he could un-make. 

She looks it over once he’s done.   
  
“Cool. I got these two from you before and now Andrew can’t fart twice without me knowing about it. Give me the Cliff Notes on this new sorry son of a bitch I somehow am just learning about now.” How much Chasten did not want to do that must have shown on his face because Lis sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay. Fuck. I’d say I’m sorry but I’m really mad at you so I’m not. If you want to do this one-on-one, Pete will go get everyone breakfast and say hi to all the nice voters in the buffet line.” 

He doesn’t but he also doesn’t want to rehash this with Peter there. It was bad enough when he talked it all through the first time. Chasten looks up at Peter and nods. 

“Fine. Let the record show I don’t like this.” Peter does his best to not sound like a petulant child in a 37 year old body and fails miserably.   
  
“Duly noted, now get the fuck out. I’m actually madder at you than him so get lost.” Peter kisses the back of Chasten’s head and makes a rude gesture at Lis. Chasten knows that because she makes a rude one back at him and all Peter does is laugh as he leaves.   
  
“Guess no Chief of Staff for you then.”   
  
“God fucking save us both. I’m no Leo and you’re not fuckin’ Jed thats for sure.”   
  
Chasten hears a faint but earnest, “Yes, you are,” through the closing door and he knows he doesn’t imagine the fond look that crosses Lis’ face through the annoyance. She sees him smile at her and points a finger at him.

“You saw and heard nothing.”   
  
“Yeah, obviously.” She takes the other chair from the nearby desk and sets it next to Chasten. They look at each other, less a battle and more an exchange. Neither of them want to be here, talking about this. Lis is the closest thing Peter has to a friend aside from Mike on the trail, but she’s more than that, too. The line between staff and family blends when you’ve spent this much time together. He doesn’t want to be telling his sister-in-law-by-choice any of this whatsoever, but he knows he has to so she knows what they’re up against. He takes a deep, unsteady breath… and begins.    
  
“Grayson De Vinter is the worst person I have, genuinely, ever met”   
  
“Well with that opening, you have now replaced Pete for Person I am Maddest At so Congratu-fucking-lations.” She really is mad if the clicking of her nails on the table is anything to go by. “If he’s such a demon that your sunshine ass gives that glowing review… Why. The.  ** _Fuck_ ** . Am I just hearing this  ** _now_ ** .” 

“I left him off the first time because if he comes out of the woodwork, the campaign is finished.” Lis shoots up out of the chair and grabs her hair as if to pull it out.    
  
“... The fuck does he have on you? What did you d–”   
  
“It’s not about what  **he** did to  ** _me_ ** .” Lis almost looks apologetic for the blame, but not quite. “It’s what Peter will do to him.” Sitting back down, she takes up the pen and makes sure he sees how incredulous her expression is. 

“‘I’m aware we are theoretically talking about the same man but I find it hard to believe it would get that bad.”   
  
“Grayson left me on the side of the road at least four times because me asking for a ride home from my second job and neither handing him my paycheck nor blowing him immediately did not work for him. In Wisconsin. In winter. If nothing else, I am a fast learner, and I have no doubt he broke my car to make sure I would.” He waited for the implications of his words sink in, but the realization was taking her a bit longer than it had Peter. “We both bring something from our own lives in how we deal with the kinds of people we’re up against in this campaign. Peter has experience with bullies, mine is with predators. Grayson actively looked for lost, hurting gay boys who were just barely adults and used them, usually more than one at the same time, weaponizing both our vulnerability and each other to get whatever he wanted. I am terrified to my core that Peter will find someone better, more whole, because Grayson had no problem doing exactly that and made sure I knew it.” 

Lis had started off writing notes but was just staring at him now. 

“If anyone finds him and gets him to talk about me, Peter will... not react well.” He took a breath, the exhale shaky, difficult. He hated explaining this, hated telling this story, but it didn’t seem to click with Lis exactly what Grayson did to his head. Why would it? “When I first found a job in South Bend, I handed Peter my paycheck. When he told me he didn’t want it, nor the offered blowjob as a replacement, I didn’t understand. I genuinely did not understand that Peter would want me to be in his city with him simply because he wanted me in his life, and not even a little bit to use me.” 

“... Fuck ‘reacting well.’ Pete will  _ absolutely _ kill him.”   
  
“I have enough awareness to know a lot of my anxieties about my marriage are based on trauma rather than reality, but that two undeniable truths are that Peter loves me and that, given half a chance with the slightest bit of an alibi, he would kill Grayson.”    
  
“You’re in therapy, right?”   
  
“I... was, yeah. Bit of a challenge at the moment, which is probably part of why yesterday hit me like a freight train from the second Andrew called,” He has to breathe. Has to make himself remember that neither of them are anywhere near. Chasten crosses his arms, closing off as much as he can. “Andrew is a bully. Always was and, apparently, always will be, but Grayson is a predator. That is a different ball game entirely.” Lis writes something down in the notebook, circles it, then stands. 

“Okay.... I mean, absolutely nothing about this is okay and I am so, so fucking sorry that you went through that, but okay. You didn’t deserve it then and you sure as shit don’t deserve it coming back now. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you don’t have to deal with it.” 

She opens the door and steps through, turning her head back to him right as Pete comes back with plates full of food.

“I don’t do this for my own ego… okay, not entirely for my ego. I do it because having someone like you in the White House could genuinely save lives.” She turns back around and sticks her tongue out at Peter. “And maybe this guy too, I guess.” Peter laughs and sets the food on the table. 

“That’s why we’re here, too. Game plan?”

“I’m going to have their fucking testicles skewered in my martini by the end of this week, but otherwise nothing you two need to worry about.”

“That’s disgusting, Lis.”

She just laughs and sashays out of the room, but not before yelling back, “On a ** _ toothpick_ ** , Pete! Be ready to go in an hour!” Pete shakes his head and closes the door behind her.

“I’m going to have that in my head for an uncomfortably long time,” Peter sighs as he sits in her seat. Chasten is not a huge fan of Peter’s concerned expression but will take it as long as it comes with the almost reverent hands that take one of his own. 

He reaches out with the other hand and runs his fingers over Peter’s hair, smiling when his husband turns his head to kiss Chasten’s wrist. 

It’s like something unwinds in his chest at the look in the blue eyes he loves so much, because in them is that love reflected right back at him and then amplified, somehow. It can be easy for people who don’t know Peter to see him, see the confident way he carries himself, to believe that he doesn’t feel much very deeply. They couldn’t be more wrong. 

Peter loves like the sea. It’s everywhere, any time he’s even looking at someone he cares about. It’s vast and abiding, with the true force of it, the real depths of it, hidden beneath the surface. Chasten sometimes still can’t believe he’s the one who gets to spend the rest of his life held weightless in that love.

When Peter leans in to kiss him, it’s like sealing a promise they didn’t have to speak to make. When he goes to his knees, Chasten refuses to stop and let go until Peter pushes him back into the chair. 

“If I could spend the rest of my life doing nothing but kissing you, I would die a happier man than most get to ever be,” Peter’s hands stroke over Chasten’s thighs and his brain shorts out to where it takes Chasten a second to see where this is going, “but we only have an hour, so this will have to do until we’re back home.” He’s about to teasingly ask what, when Peter’s hand goes for Chasten’s zipper. 

Oh.

Oh  _ fuck _ yes.

Chasten pulls his shirt out of the way with one hand while the other buries itself in Peter’s slightly too-long hair as his husband tugs down the zipper and presses his mouth to the revealed fabric, thankful for once that they haven’t had the time to get it cut. He can  _ feel _ Peter’s appreciative moan through his boxers, pushing Chasten’s next breath out in a shaky sigh. The back of his head hits the chair when Peter pulls them down and the cold hotel air hits his cock. His hand not in Peter’s hair weaves with the hand on his thigh, interlocking their fingers. 

“There isn’t a sight li–” Chasten cuts off that attempt at waxing poetic right away, glaring down at a smirking Peter.   
  
“I swear to fucking God if you take the whole hour I am going to lea- _ ah! _ ” Mid-word, Peter takes him in with one smooth swallow and Chasten’s everything sparks out with a cry. He forgets he’s the one who really taught Peter how to do this… then he swiftly remembers, because every move is exactly how Chasten likes it and he is  _ not _ going to last. 

As with everything he does, Peter puts everything into the task at hand, swallowing around Chasten and stroking what he can’t get into his mouth. It’s incredible. He’s amazing. The heat in Chasten’s gut pools and he knows this will not take long. He pulls Peter up by his hair and could have cum just from his husband’s muffled moan by itself. It takes everything in him not to.

“Fuck.” Peter smirks up at him, somehow, while still keeping his lips wrapped around Chasten’s cock. He adjusts slightly and the permission granted is clear. Jesus fuckin’... Chasten would marry him again if he could. 

With the grip in Peter’s hair, he pulls his husband’s mouth down his cock, all the way. Slowly, little by little. He feels the head bump against the back of Peter’s throat, then past and its like stars go off under his skin at the tight heat around his dick. It doesn’t take any longer than the exact second Peter’s nose is pressed into his patch of thick blond hair that Chasten loses it completely, crying out Peter’s name as he cums. 

He collapses back against the chair, chest heaving, and tries to figure out how to breathe again. He can’t think, can’t move. He feels Peter work his way off Chasten’s cock, swallowing what he can before coming off him completely with a lewd pop. Fucking hell. He hears Peter get water and blissfully zones out in the feeling that fizzles under his skin.

Everything feels damn amazing at the moment, not least of which is Peter coming back with a hand towel and kissing him with a mouth that tastes less of cum and more of mouthwash.

“I love you.” Chasten smiles into the kiss, taking the offered towel and wiping himself off before tucking everything back where its supposed to be. 

“I love you too.” Peter smiles back and helps him up. 

Chasten adjusts Peter’s collar and grins at him, still deeply enjoying how much looser he feels. “Can’t wait to return the favor in the Oval Office.” Pete’s face falls comically fast.   
  
“....Please don’t tell me it’ll take that long.” 

Chasten barks out a laugh and walks with his husband back to the table to have their breakfast and a few moments of peace.

It would be the last for a while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing was a monster that took two days. It would not be half as coherent as this ended up being with out my little crew of godless heathens on Twitter, especially PocketTreatPete
> 
> I have a whole semi-formed plotline in the works so if the people want more, who am I to deny them?
> 
> Let me know in the comments!


	3. Here's to the Dark Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All those miles they've traveled
> 
> and still so far to go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is not fun.
> 
> It deals with trauma and the after effects. 
> 
> Consider this your warning.

There is a scientific theory that the sheer act of observing a phenomenon changes it. The spread of viral content in 2019 is not dissimilar. Even without likes or resends, the sheer act of observing it means it’s changed, that it has become a part of your worldview. Algorithmic decisions made by things that aren’t people ‘see’ you observing it, then put it on the timelines and feeds of the people who follow you. Thus they see it too, without you even clicking a thing. Then so do they people _ they _ follow as the outrage builds, making content that should have never seen anything more than its little corner of the internet trickle out until it floods into the ravaged thing we dare to call civic discourse. 

Chasten’s day goes from pretty damn stellar to hell with a progression that only seems possible when laid out with that in mind. The after-effects of a good night’s sleep and an orgasm definitely doesn’t last as long as he needs them to, but he’s thankful it’s a day where they’re together the whole time, or else he’s not sure what would happen. 

It starts early. At this point, protesters are an expected thing, but something seems… different. Worse. Sharper. Peter doesn’t seem any more uneasy getting into the first event than he usually is when preparing himself for being in a crowd so Chasten figures it’s probably just in his head, the specter of the morning’s conversation seeping through.

He hates the idea, but it’s almost like Grayson is fucking Voldemort. The sheer mention of his name brings him out of the past and into every single one of Chasten’s nerves.

Peter doesn’t like being crowded while he prepares for a speech, so Chasten stands nearby in the same side room, watching his husband pace with the signature arm-crossed-over-middle-with-other-hand at-mouth pose that means Peter is in his own little world. He knows his job is to be charming and disarming people in the crowd right now, but Chasten likes this view better. (He also doesn’t want to be away from Peter. His independence is a notable factor but at the moment, after this, he just plain doesn’t want to.) 

If he wasn’t in that room, wasn’t with Peter, he wouldn’t have been able to look out the window. It’s a beautiful day and the park outside the venue is lively with people. He loves green spaces and Peter’s work getting more of them in South Bend means he knows more about park and recreational policy than any show could ever really prepare him for.

If he didn’t look out the window, he would have never seen something that there really isn’t any possible preparation to seeing. 

Plain as day, just out in the middle of the park, a man stands with a clearly hastily made sign. 

It isn’t in his head.

It isn’t just this morning.

It’s worse.

It’s much worse.

How, exactly, does anyone possibly prepare themselves to see a sign that has a picture of themselves with white paint made to look like semen across their own face and in thick black marker, “How Mayor Pete Get$ Donor$”? Where’s the handbook for that? 

His mind grinds to a halt. The roar in his ears drowns everything out to where Chasten barely registers the furious clack of Lis’ heels before she stalks past him, pulls the curtains closed and starts yelling at people to “manage the fucking crowd the hell do we pay you joke-asses for.” 

They both pointedly ignore how he flinches. 

He looks at Peter and sees his husband’s eyes flit from him to Lis and back again. For the first time, Chasten would like to not be the lynchpin of Peter’s world, to have an embarrassing reaction without knowing he’s going to be pinned by that gaze for the rest of the day. 

“What was that?” Oh. He is Not Happy.   
  
“Nothing you need to worry about. Let me fucking handle it.” Peter does not like that answer one bit, if the clench of his fist against his mouth is anything to go by. “You have ten minutes before cue, so calm your He-Man Husband Defense Club shit before you fuck us all, yeah? And you.” She rounds on him but Peter’s warning ‘Lis…’ seems to take some wind from her bitch sails. “You need to get into that goddamn hall like you were supposed to be already and find the table. Everyone there better be willing to fly to Iowa to just for you by the time Pete talks to seal the deal, got it?” 

“....Got it.” 

“Good. Like I said, I’ll handle it. Just go over what we already have, answer questions, be as close to functioning as you can and we’ll be out of here in an hour-thirty. Deal?”

“Deal.” Like a well-timed machine. 

Chasten steps over to Peter and kisses his cheek. “I’m okay. Go get ‘em.”

He’s not even out of the room when he hears it.

“No, no, no. I know that look. You are _ not _ going off script.” Chasten can’t help but grin. Good luck, Lis. Peter on a roll and a mission counts as an unstoppable force. 

He finds his way to the table where he’s supposed to make nice with the well-heeled and does his job, his smile genuine. Chasten has these supposed glitterati, these moneyed few paying enough to fund his class for a month just to see his husband, eating out of his hand in no time at all. If anything, his delay made them that much more appreciative. Chasten absorbs their happiness and excitement when Peter is introduced like a sponge, taking on every good feeling to fill the maw of terror in his chest left over from a lifetime ago. 

Peter’s speech is amazing, as always. He hits his points with precision and well-practiced control, so obviously the crowd loves him, deeply. Then, it happens.

Chasten knows the exact second there’s something different. Peter’s eyes glint in the lights and he changes which hand is holding the mic, turning just slightly askew, but never off balance. 

“Above all else, this campaign _ has _ to be filled with Joy to do what we need to do… but sometimes joy is **hard. It’s hard. ** There’s no getting around it. Even with the wear and tear this president and this system has inflicted on so many of us, we have to at least _ try. _Luckily for me, I married an expert in Joy, who brings it with him everywhere and gives it when it’s needed most, even when just finding Joy is the most difficult thing possible... You know I’m not letting that go anytime soon,” then, quick as anything, he’s back on script and Chasten is dumbfounded.

To everyone at the table, it was a sweet mention and a loving little anecdote… but Chasten knows Peter. _ Knows _ him. The whole paragraph was for Chasten, undeniably so.

_ You’re not okay. _

_ I know you’re not okay. _

_ You don’t have to be. Not with this. _

_ I am not going anywhere, and now all these people know I’m not going anywhere. _

How could he deserve this? What sort of life has backseat backaches, aching ribs, living nightmares and then this? Chasten’s eyes meet Peter’s as he closes out and it’s like a spark that sets Chasten alight.

Where Peter is the sea, Chasten loves like a fire. It takes over, consuming everything else in him like the air in a forest ablaze. He used to burn himself away to keep others warm, eating up the scant fuel they gave him and thought he had to feel thankful for the neglect. Not anymore. Not with a man like Peter to keep him blazing bright. 

The rest of the event flows like they usually do. The exchange between Peter’s tides and his flame works magic on their guests. 

When they leave, Chasten doesn’t look at the sign, doesn’t look for more. There are more, though. He notices that much. He wants so badly for it to not matter, for these to become background white noise rather than jabs at wounds barely sealed. 

He settles into the ride, his hand in Peter’s. If they do this right, if the bet they’ve made wins out, then these will be just a smattering among every other nasty thing thrown at those who have to make the hard decisions, pretty much par the course. No one with any responsibility was ever liked by everyone. Being able to deal with that is going to quite literally be his job if Peter goes all the way. 

Could he? Could he deal with his past being open season the way it is for Melania? He bears the current First Lady no particular ill will, aside from abject befuddlement at her detachment from everything. Barron seems like a good kid for everything his life has turned into, so someone must be doing something adjacent to right by him, and Chasten’s money is on his mother. Her past as a… model, if it can be called that, is under the kind of scrutiny that could end Peter’s career if Chasten doesn’t learn to get himself together when faced with his own. 

He gladly spends a few stolen moments contemplating Melania’s weird-ass Christmas decoration choices… But then Peter’s voice breaks through his musing.

“Nina?” Chasten feels like he stops breathing. It has been months since he’s heard Peter like this. He thinks of the frigid depths of the abyssal plain. Murderous just by pressure alone.  
  
“... Yes, Pete?”   
  
“Is there a particular reason why I have missed calls from more than one news outlet?”   
  
“Uh.” The temperature in the car drops by several degrees.   
  
“Corollary question. Does it have to do with these new signs I am no longer pretending I didn’t see?” Chasten may turn purple. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. Peter saw them. Peter saw the signs. He tries to pull his hand from Peter’s but his husband’s grip remains firm. Chasten can feel himself shut down, go placid, pliant. _ He would never he wouldn’t he’s not them _

“... Maybe.” 

Peter’s anger is cold. It’s Arctic. Chasten feels the chill to his core. “Maybe. And the reason I am being called is…” He doesn’t know what feels worse: the gratitude that he’s not alone with Peter and this simmering fury or the guilt that that’s even a thought in his head. 

Nina flips through her phone, clicks something and passes her phone over to Peter. Their hands finally break and its like Chasten can breathe again, though not well. 

“We wanted to confirm before letting you know but it spread through the last part of the event, especially with your… um… change.” 

“How does what I added feed into....” Chasten watches as Peter’s amazing brain comes to its own conclusion while scrolling through whatever Nina showed him, and the maw of terror opens wider when Peter looks over at Chasten with the sort of apology he’s never before had a reason to give. Not like this. “...Gives it when it’s needed most.” 

He almost says something incredibly inappropriate in response but then his own brain checks in and shows up to work.

“... Oh.” He looks at his own phone and in a split second knows how it spread so fast. He loves their internet following, he does… but they are a touchy bunch when it comes to Peter and him and this is not the first time their fervor meant something spread more than it should have. He has to stop it, even if he knows there will be more. It will get worse. He has to handle this. “We can’t change the schedule.” His voice almost sounded stable for a bit there and he’s counting it as a win, especially when pride leaks through the worry in Peter’s eyes. “We have to drown it.” 

Nina nods, taking her phone back and texting… someone. Probably Lis in the other car, who will probably not want to see either of them for several weeks at this point, however it ends up. An idea occurs to him, one they’ve had before organically, without the added layer of needing cover. 

“Nina, can you send me a list of five non-profits in the area? Especially abuse-related?” She nods without looks up from her phone, and his own chirps with texts from her with copied contact info for several locations. Within a matter of minutes, he has his own staff reaching out and organizing tickets to the next event for the most vulnerable, the ones who most need the joy he supposedly gives.

His hand in the effort finished, Chasten sits back in his seat and looks over at Peter. The quiet pride radiating off of his husband could power him for the rest of Chasten’s life… but he’ll do with just through this next event. With their new guests and the particular time offered to them, Peter’s ability to stay as near as they would both like to be will be even more constrained, but it will be fine. 

It’s not until after the event, after the survivors have been lauded and the focus of the social feeding pit sated with stories of horror and courage not their own, that Chasten wishes he didn’t use up his own courage in the car by being terrified of a man who loved him. 

“Thanks for tuning back in. This is Tucker Carlson and tonight… Democrat darling Pete Buttigieg talks a big game about his Christian faith and his adherence to Scripture, saying his marriage has brought him closer to God.” 

They’re in the hotel, every staff member packed into their suite and all eyes on the TV. Lis is _ fuming, _but all Chasten can see is Tucker’s doughy face and Peter sitting next to him on the bed. Nina was tipped off by a Fox newsroom staffer so they knew this was coming… but have no idea how bad it will get. 

“Well, tonight we have some questions as to how that’s possible when that supposedly Godly marriage is with, and I’m going to get a lot of liberals ‘triggered’ over this, but it’s the truth, because Mayor Pete married a whore.”

Gasps go around the room. ‘What the fuck’s and ‘fuck you too’s from a few. Chasten feels his world collapsing to where the only real thing is Peter’s hand in his... and Peter hasn’t moved since the video started. Chasten knows what he’s looking at though. He can’t move. Peter is angry. He can’t. Peter is furious. _ He’s not he’s not he wouldn’t _ ** _he should_ **

“No one else wanted to touch this issue when it was brought to the network, but I did because this farce has gone on long enough. That Mayor Pete can lay down with a man in the first place then quote Scripture at actual believers like the Vice President is already absurd, but to marry someone who, according to a very, _very_ reputable source, traded himself for favors, is beyond the pale.” He can _ hear _ one of Peter’s teeth crack. And yet his husband barely blinks, ice-rage eyes still focused on the screen. _ He won’t he wouldn’t _ ** _why not_ **

“Some have rightfully asked if the no-name mayor’s record fundraising numbers, beating out better-positioned rivals like Blundering Biden and Liz Warren, are because the favors haven’t stopped. With us n–” 

Lis turns the TV off. There isn’t a sound. Barely anyone even breathes. 

“There are w–” Nina started, only to be cut off by both Lis and Peter holding up their hands. Lis shook her head and Peter remained completely and utterly still otherwise.

If Peter leaves him, he’ll never try again. Never. He had a good man and did this to him. Who is he to ask for another one to ruin? 

“Everyone. Out.” If Peter hits him, he knows how to hide it. There’s almost a sort of peace in acceptance of the usually unacceptable. 

He watches everyone file out from somewhere outside himself. Some look charitably at him, apology in every half-turn, but he doesn’t… He doesn’t care. The staff just heard him be called a whore in front of the whole country. They have no idea. 

Soon enough and too soon at the same time, it’s just the two of them. 

The silence weighs heavy. In a hotel room they don’t know, in a city they will probably never come back to, Chasten can feel his marriage dying. 

What kind of “I’m sorry” covers what he’s done? 

Peter stands and Chasten does what he can to relax. It’ll hurt more if he’s tense, so he stills, tries to breathe, waiting for the pain to finally reach his skin. 

“I’m so sorry, Chasten.” He can’t help but exhale a laugh. Even in this, the best of men.

“It’s okay, Peter. If it’s what you need, you can.” Chasten looks up finally to smile his acceptance, expecting to see the back of Peter’s hand. Instead he sees nothing but open-mouthed horror. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah. There's more. 
> 
> No promises on 'better', but certainly more.


	4. Dawn Breaks Eventually

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The easiest thing in the world and the hardest battle he's ever lost.

“.... What I need? I can** what**, Chasten? ” Now both of them are staring at each other, one in confusion mixed with hope, the other in horror mixed with despair. “What is it you think I could possibly…”

“It doesn’t matter.”  
  
“Yes, it does.” Peter’s voice is careful and level. Chasten hates it, for once. “It absolutely does and I’m n-”

“There isn’t a handbook for what comes next.” Chasten feels the world around him become more real, not just pinpoints and memories. It’s awful. “What do you need, Peter?”  
  
“God’s truth? The list is growing by the _ minute_.” He’s pacing now, all five-nine of him vibrating with angry energy going nowhere except the hotel carpet. “What I need is for this to stop happening. This whole week has been completely derailed all because these fucking lunatics keep pulling themselves from the shitholes you left them in…“ Peter takes a breath, shakier than Chasten’s heard in a long time, “They’re not even in the same timezone and they’re still hurting you. They’re all still there and it’s killing me because I can’t protect you from someone I can’t see.”

There it is. 

Chasten feels like his chest has been carved out. Peter made a point their whole relationship to hardly ever pull rank or exert dominance, but to see this side… to hear these confessions… it’s different. If he could feel anything right now, he’s sure there would be some anger, and probably frustration, but it’s all buried under the haze of regret. 

“We knew this was a risk. Lis said as much at the first meeting. The campaig-”  
  
“I’m sorry for interrupting, I know you need to speak on this but genuinely, truly, _ fuck _ the campaign. This whole race isn’t even in my top ten of things to give half a damn about right now. In fact, the campaign is the source and fount of everything else that’s gone ass-up this week and I’ll be glad to see the end of it if it’s more of this.” Peter sees the building shock in Chasten’s expression apparently and stops for a moment, only to run his hands over his face and pivot away. The fact that Peter is saying that of all things so cleanly means he’d been thinking it, too, probably as long as Chasten has. _ Can they handle this? Could they stand more of it for four years? Eight? _

“For God’s sake, Chasten, someone put your face on those posters, Tucker fucking Carlson called you a whore on live television, which is why I am going to have his fucking career on a platter, if not his head, and to really send it home how much I failed you on top of those even happening, you just believed and _ accepted _ that I was going to hit you or hurt you as what, stress relief? As if that was a thing I have ever even thought of, much less would ever do after you’ve been re-traumatized _ again _.” 

Chasten can’t even respond to that. It’s humbling… and painful. Even after half a decade, being on the business end of that hidden intensity, that deep and protective passion, blows him away. He watches as Peter stops pacing and leans his back against the wall. He seems to take a moment and closes his eyes, his voice coming low and edged with… is that grief?

“You help me write these speeches but then somehow barely listen when I say them. To deserve to win, you have to want something more than winning. I do. I want something, many things, more than I want this office… and they are all you. I want you to feel safe with me, to know that I would kill for you and would have already if it didn’t mean leaving you stranded while I did time well-earned down at State. And I’d be glad for every moment of it if that meant you had even one day of peace.” 

“The list of things I wouldn’t do for you I could count on one hand, and not one of them is end this campaign. It would be the end of my political career but that price is not nearly high enough to even try to balance it against everything you are to me. I can handle my own past being dug into, my orientation questioned and my life ripped open to find the parts that hurt… What I can’t do, what I won’t do, is stand by and let anyone try the same on you.”

Chasten is well and truly floored. Of course, this is the man he married, the one he knew was his life’s love within two years. Peter adjusts how he’s standing and in a flash, Chasten sees exactly what he’s done and cannot believe it himself.

Peter set himself in a corner, hands in his pockets. Open stance, head back against the wall, vulnerable but solid. He’s done everything to make sure Chasten isn’t trapped, that if they come together, it’s on Chasten’s terms and it’ll be Peter who’s cornered. How the hell does this man think of literally everything?

“I can’t do this without you, Chasten, but I won’t ask any more than what you can give… so say the word, tell me you want to stop, and it will.” The only sound is their breathing and Chasten is stuck between the silence and the choice he has to make. 

He could say it. He could say he’s done, that’s the Line. Peter gave him the choice, the power to have Meg close up shop, send severance to staff and go home. To never have this happen again, to be able to go back to teaching and therapy and their dogs… but always have in his head what he stole from not just Peter, but the people, hearing predictable news rolling through from how this plays out. The tape plays forward. The wounds are left to fester without Peter to bring a torn country back together… and then somehow face his family after this. Mom would be okay. Not great, but okay…. His brothers, though. 

It was thinking about Rhyan’s gloating smirk, wearing that fucking red cap of his with pride, that pushed Chasten off the edge. Thinking of Rhyan, in That Hat, holding Their Kid with That Smirk and _ Absolutely fucking not. Not without a fight. _

He stood from the bed and actually enjoyed feeling Peter watch him. With every step towards his husband, he felt more and more sure, and surest still when Peter reached out his hand to take Chasten’s. The deep-sea eyes he loved so much looked over him, never judging, never criticising. Now it was Peter’s turn to not breathe, to be swallowed by the possibility. 

“Good time to release a labor policy that covers sex work, right?” The smile that crept over Peter’s face was everything Chasten needed. They could still do this. They could. “Being called a whore wouldn’t be so bad if there was respect for the trade.” He leans in for a kiss, but is stopped by a gentle hand on his chest. 

“Yes, and also a use of telemedicine in real time.” Chasten wanted to bark out a laugh but the look in Peter’s eyes under the smile was dead serious. “That has to be part of it, Chas. You know I hate directly telling you what to do but if we’re going to keep going with this, then you have to be in regular therapy. We both do.” 

Chasten really hates it when Peter is right. The fact that its most of the time doesn’t make it any less annoying. 

“Both of us, though?” Peter nodded before moving the hand on Chasten down to settle against his waist. 

“Both.” He kissed Chasten’s forehead, stroking over his back and sides. “How about this. It’s been one of the longest days of our lives, it feels like, and I’m wiped. Let’s get ready for bed and talk over everything in the morning.”

“Oh god yes please. I am done being awake.” Peter laughed at that before kissing him for real and Chasten smiled into it. 

They were going to get through this. They were.

Once they’d done all their prep for the next day and settled into each other’s arms, it almost felt like normal again, or as close as they get to normal. Pete typed out a tweet on his phone that was definitely not Lis approved and hit send. Chasten isn’t looking at his own just yet, but he knows there’s calls from his mother, Rhyan and some of his friends, along with a call and text from Doug. He’ll answer them in the morning. Especially Doug. Senator Harris’ husband had become a fast friend, closer than most, and even if their spouses were competing, Chasten genuinely enjoyed Doug’s company. He isn’t above talking to Peter into keeping Kamala in mind for something just so her husband is still around. 

Listening to Peter’s breath slow, he finally stopped resisting temptation and opened twitter just to go to Peter’s tweet.

_ A better man than the ones trying to cut him down. Thankful today and every day that after everything, he still took a chance on some guy from South Bend. _

So is he. 

Chasten put his phone to sleep and tucked it under his pillow before turning over into Peter, who automatically held him just that much closer

So is he.

The night passes. The world turns regardless of whether we want it to or not. News and content travels over cables buried in the sea, creating and ruining fortunes in turn. Minds are made up and worldviews shaken in the space of moments. If one tries to follow every pathway, sleep would be impossible both from the 24-hour pace and the sheer breadth of information and horror. Taking time to oneself is required just to be able to function. For Peter, that time is on his morning run.

There was always something mystic about running before the sun was up. There was nothing but you, your abilities and the dark natural world. The rhythm of one’s feet and pace of one’s breath drown out almost any other sound, almost any other thoughts.

Almost.

It’s at mile two that Pete realizes the wet on his cheeks isn’t from the dew.

At mile three, he’s struggling to breathe through the sobs that rack his chest. 

He gives up at mile four, barreling into shallow woods nearby as if the trees could give cover from something inside him. 

Pete collapses at the base of a tree and stares at nothing, everything. The most unsettling, unfamiliar feeling washes over him and he almost throws up.

He doesn’t know what to do. He has always known what to do, what to say, even if it’s sometimes the wrong thing, but just something, anything…. But he doesn’t. Not with this. He doesn’t even know if there is something he CAN do. 

Literature obsesses singlemindedly over the concept of love. The bonds between people and the ties that bind. Yet, not one book he’s ever read prepared him for the reality of it. Not one turn of phrase captures how he feels when Chasten looks at him, when Chasten falls asleep on his shoulder… or how it aches, in the part of him he once thought he was made without, when he watches his husband fight a battle he can’t see, save for the wreckage left afterwards. 

Loving Chasten is the easiest thing in the world for Pete. It absolutely boggles him that it was hard for anyone else. That there are men breathing who didn’t want to. Who know how hard a hit his husband can take. Pete could barely stand to leave the bed this morning because Chasten was sleep-warm and Right There. How? How do you get to where hurting him is a thing you do? 

He can’t stop remembering the conversation in the car, where Chasten barely breathed, tense and terrified. Pete knows that’s when it all well and truly went to hell in Chasten’s head, even if it seems such a small thing. Not letting Chasten’s hand go, not letting him put distance between them with Pete’s anger taking up all the air in the car… it was ranking up there in the list of awful choices he’s made. He knew better. He _ knew _ ** _better_ ** _ . _

Loving someone with a past like Chasten’s is both effortless and incredibly hard. The bar is subterranean in terms of what they’ll see as wondrous and loving… but then the bar being subterranean is the problem. Reinforcing that someone who loves like Chasten does, with all the force of a firestorm, deserves to feel and know he is loved in return is an everyday battle… and the one war Pete thought he had won. 

Somehow, he’s back here again anyways.

A plan. He needs a plan. Think. The one thing he’s always been good at and its like his brain is on fire. All he can think about is the way Chasten looked up at him last night, the way his whole body relaxed before he said… that. _ It’s okay, Peter. If it’s what you need, you can. _

_ It’s okay _ ** _It’s not_ **

_ If it’s what you need _ ** _How could anyone need that_ **

_ You can _ ** _ Never_ **

** _Never Never Never Never _ **

He needed a plan, one that had more than a few steps into the future planned out, but only one of those steps appealed to him at all right then. 

He needed to make a phone call.

In the cool brisk air of city he didn’t know, Pete closed his eyes and walked through his own mind. The Mind Palace concept has been a part of memory philosophy since the Renaissance and Pete was an avid practitioner. It helped him compartmentalize when he needed to retain massive stores of information and not process it until something else had been dealt with first. When he first started doing it, the palace looked like his childhood home. Now, it looked like the home he shared with Chasten. A place so familiar he knew every room blindfolded. In this ephemeral version, however, there were dozens more rooms, all stacked high with data and memories. Deeper and deeper he went, until there were rooms he never went to, never dug too deep. He opened a door and pulled something from it.

He pulled it out and into reality again...and dialed a number he could have lived the rest of his life without. 

“Hello?” For a monster that walks his husband’s nightmares, Grayson de Vinter sounds shockingly normal. They always do.

“Grayson.”

“Well, hello, Mr Mayor. Been quite a while.” Pete can hear the smile and if he could strangle someone though the phone, he would. 

  
“Not long enough.”

“Oh, this has been coming and we both know it.” He hates him. Pete doesn’t usually hate people, does his level best to find a common cause…

“Couldn’t wait til the bigger payoff? Had to go crawling to Carlson?”

“Well, bird in the hand and all that.” When it comes to Grayson fucking de-goddamn-Vinter, however, it is pure, unadulterated hatred. 

“Waiting for something was never your strong suit, and judging by the age of your new prey, still isn’t.” 

“...How the hell do you-”

“I didn’t, but thanks for confirming. Keep my husband’s name out of your mouth, Grayson, or it won’t be just me.” 

“Is that a threat?”

“I don’t know, de Vinter. Is it?”

“It’s a mistake you won’t come back from if it is.”

“There are two ways this ends. Either I’m sworn in and there’s an entire corps of crack shots between you and Chasten, or I’m not and you keep a state between us for your own good.” 

“Like I’d ever be scared of your geek ass. Take a hike, boy scout. I live rent free in his head forever and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. I can get a couple just like him from anywhere, whenever I want, for whatever I want and cheaper, too.” Pete hasn’t been one to make hasty decisions in a while but this one was almost too easy. 

"Can you. Hm. Let Mark know I say hi.”

“Who the fuck is Mark?”

“Goodbye, Grayson.” Deeply enjoying the sputtering at the other end, Pete ended the call, then dialed a number he didn’t have to walk very far inside his mental home to get.

“Detective Franklin, here.”

“Hey Mark, It’s Pete.”

“Were you right?’  
  
“Dead on. Probably 16, 17 if we’re being kind, which I’m not feeling. Definitely trafficked over a state line, maybe two….” He took a steadying breath, and knew that murder was in his voice when he spoke again, ”He’s selling this kid too. He needs to rot in a cell, Mark.”  
  
“Yeah, no kidding. Earned it too, with this newest bit. I’ll let Madison know we’re a go. Nancy says Chasten’s welcome over anytime.”

“‘Preciate it.” 

“Take it easy, Pete.”

“Not a chance.”  
  
“Atta boy. You got our vote.”

“Thanks, Mark. Here’s to earning it.”

It was like a weight lifted from his shoulders once the call was done. Pride always got these arrogant idiots eventually. So convinced of how much they think they could get away with until they talk themselves into a 20 year sentence. Pete doesn’t have the love of South Bend’s FOP or even the Union by any stretch of the imagination, but Indiana State and Federal agents know he’s good for what he says, so the trust there is mutual. 

One problem down, one to go, and forever on the road goes…

When he gets back to the hotel, Chasten’s staring blearily at the coffee maker as if it stole something from him. For all Pete knows, it may just have. 

Chasten’s going to make it work. Somehow. He put the packet thingy in, put the water in the place where its supposed to go and pressed the button... but there’s no coffee. It’s not until Peter reaches behind the offending machine and plugs it in that the coffee starts happening. A miracle.

“Look alive, boys!” Chasten groans at Lis’ clearly-caffeinated call through the door. “Busy day full of fuckery ahead so get a damn move on!” 

“Please. I’m just one man. I need coffee before I stooOH MY GOD YOU ARE SO SWEATY YUCK.” Peter just laughs at Chasten's horror before kissing his cheek and letting Chasten out of the very gross hug, snickering all the way to the shower. 

“And here I thought you liked it when I got sweaty.” 

“It’s too early for your shit, Peter.” All that got him was another laugh and the sound of the shower turning on. Fucker. Chasten loves him endlessly.

Once they’re set and ready to go, with something that actually looks like breakfast shoved into his hand, Chasten finally feels like a person again, rather than a bundle of steel wool just waiting for a match. He’d texted Doug back, talked to his mom and ignored pretty much everyone else. 

Lis seemed to approve of this strategy. “The less we say, the better. Fuck you for that tweet, by the way, Pete.”

"Better than saying nothing.”  
  
“You’re not wrong but I am still mad at you. Alright. Attack plan time." Chasten did not like the look on her face. She is going to enjoy the next part way too much. "I have a few ideas, a few you’ll like" She hands them folders with the new media schedule and Chasten’s stomach drops the second he opens it and sees the word 'FOX'

"And one you definitely won’t but can't say no to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. There's another chapter.


	5. let the curtains be all the witnesses we need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After months of trial, of being more involved in this than you'd think, here it is.
> 
> The final chapter of this saga.
> 
> I'm sorry to see it go, but I loved it while I could.
> 
> Endless thanks to my ever-patient, ever-hopefully-fond beta and friend, Pocket along with all of Team Pete in general, especially this godless band of miscreants.
> 
> Edits may come but I'm content with it. 
> 
> As ever, I deeply apologize to the very real people I'm using for this but hopefully this is something like closure for others.

“I’m going to have Tucker’s career or head on a platter. He gets to choose which.”

They have to time the rounds perfectly, get the most opportune time in the news cycle to take out Tucker’s kneecaps before the wagons can circle and keep him from the consequences of his actions. Lis, the mastermind, knows what to look for, knows when the time comes.

The time never comes.

Instead, everything goes to hell.

Like a tower of cards and matchsticks, the plans they made collapse into themselves in a way Chasten wouldn’t have believed if you laid out the timeline in front of him. 

Iowa happens. And happens. And happens. 

New Hampshire happens.

Iowa happens again.

South Carolina happens.

In the space of what feels like moments, the tape playing forward before turns from nightmare into reality. Chasten feels something like hope still as he hears from Sam how she’s worked magic with their grassroots volunteers, still working, still their secret weapon… but Peter pulls away. He talks with President Carter. With Whip Clyburn. With Lis. With his mom. 

And then, finally, with Chasten.

They’re sitting in a South Carolina hotel room, Peter doing his tie in the mirror like it’s normal, like he’s not hours from walking with icons across an icon and hours still yet from a point of no return. 

It’s the right thing to do.

It still feels like betrayal.

Chasten thinks about Adi, about Alex, about Bridgette. He thinks about Julio and Matty and every young person he saw on the trail, given a sometimes-fading hope because of them. He thinks about the young but strong who wrote him personally to say they got the courage to leave someone hurting them because he did.

He thinks about the signs they’re still seeing. About the tweets calling him names, implying the unforgivable about what Peter would ever do to Chasten. He thinks about the coiling stress he can see even now in Peter’s back and shoulders, knots that won’t come loose because they’re tied in things they’re not talking about.  
It’s the right thing to do.

He can’t help but think the idea of a First Gentleman who had already been used up didn’t appeal much. When graffiti’d pictures of your face circulate faster than your husband’s should-have-been-gamechanging policy, there’s only so much further he can go, really.  
It’s like Pete can _hear_ the spiral in Chasten’s head going because he looks at Chasten with a gaze that the mirror’s reflection does nothing to dull. 

“No.” 

“It didn’t help.” 

“We knew going in with Biden and Sanders on the field it was more likely to end up here anyways.” He’s right and Chasten hates it. They knew. “We’ve gotten verbals from almost everyone else that they’ll follow suit…” The pause is pregnant with something like disgust.

“But no one wants to be first.” 

“Politics.” The _cowards_ goes unspoken but understood. 

More goes unspoken yet. They’re looking at each other but not directly. As if eye contact not refracted in glass would be too much to ask, and for Chasten, it may just be. There’s a chasm there, between them. It’s been there before but never this wide. Never this devastating in its greed. 

“Chas-” He can’t stop himself once he sees Peter give up on the tie. Among other things.  
“How can you be okay with this?! After everything?” Chasten gets up from where he was sitting on the bed and finally, it's him doing the pacing. “Everything… everything we’ve done for the past two years along with everything so many have done for us is about to go up in smoke and yet you’re telling me that … that my _bullshit_ and the fact that yo-we never did anything about it isn’t a factor in why? I may not be a political mind, Peter, but I’m not stupid.”

The icepick gaze that he always found warm bore into his head from the mirror, something sharp and awful in the turmoil. Oh, so they’re really going to be doing this, huh?

“You aren’t, which is why its impressive how you got every single part of that wrong.” Peter’s voice is even, low. “Starting from the top of how in the hell you think any part of this is okay with me. After **everything**, I’m not a robot, much as some may think so, including you, apparently.” Holy shit they are really Doing This. “Do you think I don’t know what this means to where I need to have the impact explained to me? I know how it's going to play out and much against my ‘programming’ this is actually the path of least pain, for the party… but also for us.” Peter’s voice is still low and even, which is somehow so much worse. Chasten can see the tension build in his husband's shoulders and the urge to soothe is strong, warring with the petty wish that Peter’s shoulders just stay like that for a while, as if in payback. “As for the last of that bullshit, where, pray tell, are de Vinter and Burnson right now?” Chasten just barely kept from rolling his eyes.

“Prison.”

“Yes, prison. Both of them. Within days of each other. Maybe the accusation of inaction should be levvied at whoever’s almost completely full anti-anxiety meds are in the toiletry bag.” Chasten just stares at Peter, lip curled in disgust at the low blow but Peter turns to fully face him before Chasten could dig their hole any deeper. The icepick digs in and he feels like he’s drowning in the tempest of Peter’s full focus. “I pressed on police forces I don’t control with influence I no longer have to make that happen, since asking what you needed from me got nothing. So I did what I could… and here we are.”

Here they were.

He could hear Peter breathe, could see the edges of his eyes tighten under the faint wrinkles that weren’t there a year ago.

“How are we back here, Chasten? How are we still doing this?” Chasten felt like he was punched in the stomach, panic licking the edges of his vision. Would Peter ask for a divorce now? Now? “For God’s Sake. I can _see_ you writing over what I’m saying with a way to hurt yourself.” 

Busted. “You knew coming into this marriage that loving me is miserable work. Now you’ve paid for it with your campaign, even if you won’t say so.” Chasten couldn’t stop the sad huff that left his chest, but it hit all the harder when he looked back into Peter’s eyes as his husband walks up to him and lays a gentle hand on his arm.

“There hasn’t been a single day, a single moment, where loving you was either miserable or work.” 

And like that all the piss and vinegar in Chasten’s veins evaporated, leaving behind an ache he got to know well over the years.

He took the offered comfort, leaning into Peter until his head laid heavy on his husband’s shoulder. Dense arms wrapped around him and Chasten returned the favor, messing up Peter’s shirt in a way he knew neither of them had the will to mind. 

“You’re going to have to be strong for so many people today… yet here I am, selfish.” After the bridge, they’re going to fly back home. The pilots don’t even know yet, but they do, and it sits heavy in Chasten’s gut that Peter is going to have the hard conversations early and often today. 

“You first. Always. Everyone else can deal with what they get from me at this point, for all I care.” He feels Peter set his own cheek against Chasten’s head and the slow sway they seem to gravitate to every time they stand like this. “Setting yourself on fire to keep others warm only works for so long.” Chasten feels Peter’s hands splay across his back and the ache seeps out of him. “I know the antihisamines make things fuzzy, but you need to take them. When we get back home…”

Chasten sighed. When. Not if. Barely ten hours from now. “I know. Full SSRI panel.” 

“Chasten…”

“Peter.” There’s a silence there, but it isn’t heavy this time. “We are going to have a long time for talking about heavy things.” He stands up straight again and smooths over the mussed parts of Peter’s shirt. “This isn’t me avoiding. This is me knowing what’s coming.” 

“We are going to talk about this.”

“Yes, we are… but not now.” he wraps his arms around Peter’s neck and kisses him, relishing in that selfish part of him how his husband lights up and bears down in turn, all from his touch. “Right now… right now I just want to keep dancing to no music with a man who wouldn’t know what to do if there was any, before I have to let him belong to the world again.” 

The snort of laughter was worth it.

He wasn’t sure about much else, but he was sure of that.


End file.
